Epilogue
Madison
I wind my jacket over my arm, mostly out of habit, and knock on her door. “Hi Abuela,” I greet her softly, crossing the room to join her at her puzzle table.
She turns to me with a slightly blank, but happy look. “Ah, m’hijita! Ven, siéntate a mi lado.”
I sit, feeling an odd nostalgia at the kitten puzzle she’s working on.
I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it before. “I came to give you some good news, Abuela,” I tell her, taking her hand in both of mine and giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Wesley came with me. He’s going to speak to the vice president about getting you into an experimental trial.
” The fact that he’s still on the board here after all this time still amuses me.
“Wesley?” she repeats, confused. Her eyes dart behind me, and I know she’s seeing him in the doorway.
Her eyes brighten, and she gives me a coy look.
“Wesley. Right. Your…” her eyes flick down and her brows shoot up.
A smile cracks her face, deepening every wrinkle around her mouth and eyes.
Excitement makes her voice thin and reedy.
“Husband? Oh, m’hijita, you got married? ”
She was there. She walked me down the aisle. “I did. It was beautiful,” I tell her.
“He’s so handsome,” she says, leaning close and murmuring the words in a conspiratorial tone.
I giggle. “I know. Don’t tell him that, though. Ya es demasiado orgulloso.”
She clucks her tongue and looks down at my ring, tilting her head a few times to watch how it catches the light.
“I’m pregnant, Abuela.”
Like they have every time I’ve told her, her brows lift. Her eyes widen, then drop to my stomach. I get to experience her joy for me like it’s new each time I tell her, and it fills me with so much sadness and gratitude for her in equal measure that I almost cry every time. “Rosemary,” I tell her.
“Oh, m’hijita,” she sighs, her smile radiant. “You’re naming her after me?”
“Yeah, we are,” I confirm.
She squeezes my hand and uses it to tug me forward into a hug. She’s careful around my belly, and when she pulls back, she rubs it and whispers Spanish endearments at the baby inside.
We catch up and have a lovely visit. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen her, and she just likes the company.
When it’s time to leave, Wesley holds up his arm for me, and I slot myself against him as we walk together out of Sunset Hills.
We pass the vice president on our way out, who stops to shake Wesley’s hand.
The days of motorcycles are temporarily over, so Wesley opens the door of the sensible sedan and helps me inside, even though I’ve told him a hundred times that I don’t need his help into the car. I kind of need his help out of it sometimes, though…
“Let’s go home,” I tell him with a heavy sigh as he settles into the driver’s seat. My feet hurt, and I just want to sleep in my own bed.
Wesley starts up the car, placing his hand on my thigh—where it goes—and begins the winding journey back to the mansion through the familiar streets of Ulysses. Our home.
“Milly is going to love the doll we got her in Chicago,” I muse as I watch the scenery pass.
“I sent Nicole a picture, and she showed it to her, so she knows it’s coming.
Do you think she’ll even bother to say ‘hi’ to ‘En Maas’ and ‘Unga Wuss’ before ripping it out of my hands?
” I ask, taking great delight in how Milly’s two-year-old speech capability warps Wesley’s name.
No one takes more pleasure out of it than Mac, though, who now also calls him Unga Wuss. As if Unga Muck has any leg to stand on…
“You spoil her,” Wesley approves.
“Eleanor and I both do,” I correct with a grin. “Hey, it’s our job as official aunties. Eleanor’s already talking about the baby shower she’s throwing for me. She bought herself a t-shirt that says Being an Aunt is Better and has all these reasons written on the back.”
“They are quite happy in their child-free life,” Wesley agrees. “Mac nearly earned himself a black eye the other day when he cheerily pointed out that all of Dimitri’s shirts have baby vomit on them.”
I laugh. “That’s going to be you, too, you know.”
“A small price to pay.”
As we leave the city line behind us, I heave another sigh, feeling sort of lost and hopeful.
This was our last trip. Once we get home, we won’t have to leave again until we want to.
I’ve started planning our baby-moon to Vancouver, and Eleanor and Nicole want to do a girls’ trip down the shore next month.
But the shift from having a purpose to getting to truly do whatever we want is odd.
“So, we’re really done—no more Gener-AI. We finally got the last copy. How does it feel?”
“To be done?” he repeats, considering the question as he rolls to a stop at a light. “It’s… to call it a relief would be a bit of an understatement, I think. It’s an inevitability. A longtime coming.”
I hum my agreement. “It’s all over. The end.”
He lifts his hand from my leg and cups the bottom of my stomach that gets just a little bit bigger and a little bit rounder every day, tenderly sweeping his thumb across the stretched skin. The little frijole kicks at him.
“This isn’t the end. This is just the beginning, my love.”